


Olé

by montecarlos



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bullfighting, Fluff, Gen, Gore, M/M, Matador AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torero - [Spanish, from Late Latin taurārius, from Latin taurus, bull;] a matador or one of the supporting team who participates in bullfighting.</p><p>El niño salvaje, they call him. It translates into English as ‘The Wild Child’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olé

**Author's Note:**

> Torero (or 'matador' in English) Carlos is always something I have wanted to write. But I was reluctant due to what actually happens to the bull. Therefore, this fic touches more on what the person feels and is more of a loose imagining of true bullfights. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

El niño salvaje, they call him. It translates into English as ‘The Wild Child’. Carlos was from a long line of toreros - his father had been one, his grandfather before him, the Sainz generations before him waved their cape in front of angry bulls for the roving crowds of Barcelona. He remembers long ago when the nickname had enveloped him, back when his father had taken him into the ring as a child - the first time that he had faced the bull in his sparkling navy traje de luces. The bull was angry - the ring moving from side to side, its dark eyes burning into him, into the waving cape that he pulls from his shoulders. He remembers the smile in his father’s eyes as he stares down the bull, remembers his father standing before him, the sand tickling his eyes, his warm hands clamped on Carlos’s shoulders.    
  
“Make me proud, Carlitos,” His father says. “Make the name Sainz proud, show them where you’re from,”   
  


* * *

  
  
“You shouldn’t go,” Dany worries his lip as he watches his best friend pull on his traje de luces, they’re brand new for this particular fight - all beautiful dark navy with accents of red and gold, Dany would agree they look perfect any other time but Carlos is wearing them as he prepares to face a bull twice his size and four times his weight. Dany worries at one of his fingernails as he watches Carlos press the montera onto his thick, fluffy curls and press the capote de brega to his shoulders.    
  
“You say this every time. Dany, you know I have to, you know what my papa expects,” Carlos says, his voice carefree. “I must fight, I would do my family nothing but dishonour if I did not,”   
  
“Better dishonour than death,” Dany mutters, watching his best friend through narrowed hazel-green eyes.    
  
“Dany,” Carlos says, turning his eyes away from the mirror. “Don’t you trust me at all? Don’t you have any faith in my abilities? I’ve been doing this since I could walk,”   
  
“That’s what worries me,” Dany whispers. “You don’t think about anything else, Chili,”   
  
“I have to focus on the fight ahead, Dany,” Carlos says, glancing back to his own reflection.    
  


* * *

  
  
Carlos’s fingers tighten around the capote de brega, the red material feels silky against the callouses as the crowd cheers around him. They seem to blur together - their faces sink into one, their voices yelling out muted Spanish into the hot air. Carlos’s boot scrapes over the sand as his dark eyes meet the bull’s for the first time. He takes a deep breath, ready to calm down the thudding of his heart against his ribcage before he takes a step forward, the capote de brega flutters in the light breeze. His eyes never falter as the bull’s foot scrapes over the sand, sweat running down his neck. The music pumps out but it seems to melt into the crowd’s cheers as they enter the first stage.    
  
Carlos hears nothing but his own harsh breathing as he waves his capote de brega, bright red, the crowd still want tradition - the bull cocks his head slightly, moving around as though to scope Carlos out. He breathes carefully through his mouth, he imagines his father standing on the sidelines, watching his technique carefully.    
  
The capote de brega flutters once more as Carlos’s boots stalk through the sand.    
  
The bull charges.    
  


* * *

  
  
“I am so proud of you,” His father smiles widely, his hands on Carlo’s shoulder. He managed to execute the performance perfectly, his capote de brega still clutched in between his fingers. “You have done our name proud, Carlitos. The Sainz legacy lives on through you,”   
  
Carlos feels the smile tug at his lips, his father’s pride evident on his face.”Thank you, Papa, I would not be here without your support and your training,”   
  
His father nods. “We must think of your next fight. The bull, he must be bigger,”   
  
Carlos worries his lip. “Of course, whatever you think is necessary for the show,”   
  
His father smiles wider, his warmth disappearing as he vanishes from sight. Carlos sinks down into the chair, taking a deep breath as he glances at himself in the mirror. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing carefully, as his thoughts turn back to the fight - it was a difficult one, he aches from the exertion, his heart still is thudding against his ribcage.    
  
“Told you not to do that,” A familiar voice pipes up behind him. Dany is leaning in the doorway, his hazel-green eyes full of concern.    
  
“You watched the show? I thought you said that you hated it,” Carlos says softly as he pulls away his outfit, revealing his tanned caramel skin underneath.    
  
“I had to make sure you were okay,” Dany replies, worrying his lip and trying not to look at the tiny freckles dancing over Carlos’s shoulders.    
  
“I’m fine, as I have been for the last hundred fights or so,” Carlos says, pulling off his montera and setting it on the side. His hair is fluffy and thick, matted with sweat. Dany licks his lips as he glances at his best friend, pushing away the frustration.    
  
“Chili, please-”   
  
“Dany,” Carlos looks up, his lip caught between his teeth. “I know you have never approved of my lifestyle, of the torero -” He stops for a moment. “But it is a part of me, it’s a part of my life,”   
  
“I know that, Chili, I just worry about you-” Dany says, trying to keep his voice calm.    
  
“Just stop worrying about me then!” Carlos suddenly erupts, anger pouring out of him. “Just stop it, don’t come to my fights anymore if you can’t bare it, Dany! The torero, the fight, it’s me, if you can’t accept that-”   
  
“I don’t want to have to sit in the stands and wait to see if my best friend is about to get gored to death by an angry bull!” Dany says, his eyes narrowed, his cheeks reddening.    
  
“Well, don’t sit in the stands then! I’m not forcing you to watch my fights!” Carlos snarls back, his face twisted with anger.    
  
“You know what? Maybe someday you will have to go through what I have to go through, Carlos, when you sit helpless unable to stop anything from happening to the person you care about most in your life...the person you love,” His voice cracks on the last word. 

Carlos’s head whips up at Dany’s words, the dark pupils widening in shock. “If you truly loved me, Dany, you would understand why I step into that ring, it’s not something I can stop, it’s in my blood, you’re asking me to stop being myself-”   
  
“Chili-”   
  
“Just go, Dany, please,” Carlos whispers, sinking back into his chair. Dany says nothing else, the slamming of the door resounds through the room. Carlos looks at his reflection in the mirror; at his haunted dark brown eyes, at his suit still glittering in the lights. His chest aches as he slowly pulls off his glittering suit, stripping down to his bare skin. He thinks about his father’s face, about the pride reflected on it, before it melts away into Dany’s face, anger dancing over his features, his hazel-green eyes hardened. He sighs heavily, trying to push the thoughts away.    
  


* * *

  
  
Dany doesn’t come over on Friday night to study for their Spanish exam together as he usually does. Carlos tries to push away the hurt in his chest, as he scribbles down his notes over his notebook. He tries not to think about hazel-green eyes, about Dany’s knees rubbing against his own, their pencils scraping across their papers. His phone is strangely silent; there’s no messages or calls from Dany. He throws himself into his Spanish revision, he finishes all his college homework and even manages to go for a run around the neighbourhood.    
  
He tries not to think about Dany, about the dark hair, about pale skin, about angry hazel-green eyes. He has another fight at the weekend, he tries not to imagine Dany at home instead of the stands watching him. His chest aches as he pictures himself after the fight, Dany not moving into the cool-down area, Dany not throwing his arms around Carlos, his hair tickling Carlos’s cheek as they laugh at how well it went.    
  


* * *

  
  
Saturday arrives. Carlos stands before the long mirror in the back room, examining himself carefully in the mirror - he’s already dressed in his traje de luces  - it glitters softly in the light as Carlos moves to carefully place his montera onto his thick curls. The room has stayed quiet, the only noise from the radio playing soft Spanish music over the din of the crowd. Dany usually comes in a few minutes before Carlos is due to go into the ring, but he doesn’t appear at the door. Carlos glances at him in the mirror for a moment before he shakes his head.    
  
“Make him proud,” He whispers at his reflection. He hears the roar of the crowd intensify.    
  
“And now, please welcome el niño salvaje!” The commentator announces to the baying crowd who cheer louder. Carlos pulls his capote de brega closer around himself and takes a deep breath as he leaves the safety of the room. The sand on the ring is coarse against his thin shoes, he can feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as he steps out into the ring to thunderous applause. He smiles widely, the faces before him seem to melt away, along with the din of the crowd, as he prepares for the bull to be released.    
  
The din seems to quieten down when the bull is released into the arena. Carlos doesn’t move for a moment, the capote de brega still attached to his shoulders, fluttering lightly in the breeze. He narrows his eyes, they’re locked on the bull before him - it’s bigger than the ones he’s used to - before he takes a deep breath and rips the capote de brega away from his shoulder, twirling it in his fingers. The crowd cheer for a moment, as Carlos steps forward, turning into a simple stance. The bull’s dark eyes follow him around as he seems to dance through the arena, the cape fluttering behind him. Carlos moves closer, the faces of the audience melting away, their calls and shouts seem to disappear as he focuses on himself and the bull. The bull follows him around - they’re natural curious creatures - before Carlos whips around, folding the cape in front of him.    
  
The bull decides he’s had enough and charges.    
  
Carlos feels the smile tug on his lips as he moves out of the way, the bull dancing underneath his cape. This is familiar to him, this is natural, this is what he was born to do - he continues to dance out of the way of the bull as he follows him around, enraged by his movements. He feels the smile move onto his face as he performs in front of the crowd. He’s in his element, doing the thing he loves, making his father proud. His thoughts turn to Dany for a moment, wondering if the Russian is somewhere in the crowd, worrying his lip. However, as he glances into the crowd for a second, he feels pain slam into his side.   
  
The bull’s eyes are wide and enraged. He breathes in carefully, feeling the horn twist into his side but he doesn’t panic - he knows that panicking will make it worse. He goes slack against the bull who tosses and turns, the audience stop baying and a silence sweeps over the arena. Carlos thinks of how disappointed his father will be, thinks about Dany was right as dizziness washes over him for a moment. He wrenches himself away from the bull, feels the warmth gush over his clothes. He hears hushed voices, sees men fighting to remove the bull from the arena. He smiles widely as he holds his arms up to the sky, his capote de brega still clutched in his fingers. He drops it to the floor and the crowd erupts. Carlos smiles, his mask still on, the pain drifting through his side - he dares not look down, dares not to see the damage.    
  


* * *

  
  
He’s ushered out of the arena - there’s a blur of voices and worried eyes - Carlos blinks, his fingers curling up against his sides - they’re wet but all he can think about is how his clothes are ruined, how angry his father will be, how Dany was right. Somebody examines his wound, he finally glances down - it’s not too bad - it’s still oozing blood, but someone presses bandages into a neat square, forcing his hand to push against the wound.    
  
“It’s a scratch,” He hears something say. “The bleeding is stopping,”   
  
“Chili,” A familiar voice dances through the void. Carlos refocuses his gaze to see his best friend looking at him with worried eyes. “Chili, you-” He drops down to his knees, his fingers curling around Carlos’s. “You’re hurt,”   
  
“I got gored,” Carlos says, laughing to himself a little. “It was my own fault, I was thinking about you not being there, you’ve always been there,”   
  
Dany bites his lip, squeezing Carlos’s fingers tighter. “I was there, I was watching the whole thing,”   
  
“I thought-” Carlos begins, his face grimacing in pain. “I thought that you didn’t care about me anymore, I thought you were angry,”   
  
Dany smiles widely. “Just because I’m angry, doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you anymore,” He closes his eyes for a moment. “You scared me there, I thought you were going to-”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Carlos slurs, “I’m sorry for scaring you,”   
  
“I’m sorry for being a dick about everything,” Dany whispers, shaking his head. “I’m sorry for trying to make you feel guilty about doing something you love,” His thumb ghosts over Carlos’s palm.   
  
“Did you mean it?” Carlos says after a moment.    
  
“Mean what?” Dany replies, his hazel-green locked on Carlos.    
  
“Did you mean what you said about loving me? Do you still love me?” Carlos says, worrying his lip.    
  
“I’ve loved you since we were young, but recently, my feelings changed-” Dany glances at his feet. “I’m sorry, I think I’m falling in love with you,”   
  
“Don’t apologise, you idiot,” Carlos whispers. “I think I love you too,” He raises Dany’s hand to his lips and gently presses a kiss to the pale skin. Dany raises an eyebrow as Carlos slowly pulls his lips away, their fingers still entwined.   
  
“I’m not kissing you covered in bloody torero clothes,” Carlos whispers. “I know it’s a scratch but still,”   
  
“Well, when you’ve had your wound checked out at the hospital, we could get you some new unbloodied clothes?” Dany suggests, smiling widely.    
  
Their hands stay entwined, caramel coloured skin brushing against pale, brown eyes locked on hazel-green. The roar of the crowd seems to die away as the two young men lose themselves in each other - the wound, the bullfight, the crowd all forgotten for a moment. The squeeze of fingers, the quirk of lips.    
  
“Sounds like a deal,” Carlos agrees, smiling back. 

**Author's Note:**

> El niño salvaje - the wild child  
> traje de luces - suit of lights - the sparkly uniform that the toreros wear  
> montera - the torero hat  
> capote de brega - the cape used to provoke the bull


End file.
